


Don't Thrist

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 03:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13285872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: A complication of smut stories, idk if I'll continue the stories themselves. Wilson will probably be in 90% of them.





	Don't Thrist

Wilson's hips gyrated, frantically trying to reach up and gain the friction he so desperately craved. His strained moans were muffled by the shadows that latched around his mouth, cruelly restricting his pleas. His arms were pulled taught behind him, shadows holding his wrists tight against his ankles and leaving his body a fine display. His shirt was practically ripped apart, showing peaks of chest hair that had a white gloved hand sliding through them, feeling his slight muscles and tweaking his nipples. Wilson groaned as his neck was attacked, the lips leaving black lipstick everywhere they went. The man teasing him so deliciously was sitting on one knee, the other shoved carelessly in-between Wilson's legs while his hands poked and prodded. Wilson whined impatiently and ground himself against the thigh of this strange shadowed man. His erection was strained in his pants, only rarely grazed across with tinges of pleasure. This mime wanted to savor the time they had together, it seems, but Wilson was never a patient man. 

Wilson looked up at the man who was practically curled over him, his eyes clouded with lust and need. He could see the others expression clearly, even if it was dark in the wood that enclosed them. His black tinted lips curled into a cruel grin, his cheeks a comicall red, and his eyes hidden by rounded glasses. Wilson knew little of this man, neither of his past or name, not even if he was a survivor or a beast sent by Maxwell and Charlie to torment him. He could barely even remember how this all began, and he spent a few moments searching his mind, worry reaching in from the dull pleasures.

However, in an instant none of this mattered. The mime moved the thigh in-between Wilson's legs up and began meeting with Wilson's desperate attempts of gaining pleasure. Moans spilled out, hidden by the shadowed texture of the gag, his entire body screaming with the need for release. He gasped softly as the gag around him disappeared into dust, but he had little time to speak as the mimes mouth clamped over his own. He let himself moan into his mouth, feeling light headed and dizzy. Heat rushed through him, as if he was a wound rubber band on the inch of snapping in half. The kiss was broken, and Wilson's breathy moans were released into the open air, drool sliding down his chin. 

“Please…!” His strained noise was the little warning the mime got as Wilson came into his pants, his hips rocking forward in the same feverish manner as before. He rode his orgasm out, tears spilling over and dampening the blindfold. The shadows dissipated and Wilson fell onto his back, his breath thick and his eyesight hazy. The Mime above him wiped his mouth, his smile never leaving, even as the shadows seeped into him and slowly engulfed him. Wilson groaned quietly as the mime pulled him close to his chest, the grin never leaving his face. Everything was blurry, undefined. Wilson could feel sleep clawing at his mind, and with his rest resting against this mysterious man's shoulder and his nose breathing in the sweet perfume that his neck tie seemed to be coated in, he fell asleep. 

XoXoXo 

Maxwell's fingers strummed against the cigar in his hands as he paced back and forth on the shadowed carpet, about a million different scenarios running through his mind. “Maxwell, dear, relax…” Charlie said from the throne they shared, her deft fingers plucking the petals off a ripe, red rose. “He should've been back by now…” Maxwell muttered, stopping to take a deep puff of his cigar and opting to instead tap his foot feverishly. “All I said is make sure that little rat Wilson isn't making an escape route, and of course that experimental little...little…!” Charlie could practically watch Maxwell's blood pressure rise. True, Wes was an experiment. The real Wes had died several months ago in one of their islands, torn to shreds by a deerclops with little remaining. but Charlie had found a piece of hair, enough DNA to make a clone made of shadows. Since then they'd replicated this technique with a few other failed survivors, and they had begun to grow restless. 

Wes’s adventure to ensure the scientist hadn't been doing anything other than simply surviving and been a test to see if the others could fair just as well, and considering it had been nearly 9 hours…  
“This is nearly, almost completely your fault, Charlie!” Maxwell accused, having taken his pacing back up. “If you hadn't made those clones to begin with we wouldn't be dealing with this mess!” Charlie set the now bare rose stem onto the arm of the throne, slipping down the stairs to gently wrap her arms around Maxwell's shoulders. “Now now, Maxwell, we don't know if he's in trouble. Afterall, he has some control over a few shadows.” Maxwell grumbled in agreement and took in a deep puff. “I suppose…” a quiet hissing sound resonated in the corner, and upon turning around, they discovered Wes manifesting himself in the corner, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Wes. I see you've found your way home, and…” Maxwell paused between his words, looking down at the scientist held firmly in his arms. “...also picked up a stray from the cold. How wonderful.”


End file.
